


the way you hold me

by coupe_de_foudre



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Blake is oblivious and Scho isn't much better, Cold Weather, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Sleepy Cuddles, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:15:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22778545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coupe_de_foudre/pseuds/coupe_de_foudre
Summary: He shuddered, for the millionth time that night, and brought his hands up to his mouth to breathe hot air into them. It served as a momentary relief from the pain before they stung once more only twice as bad.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 12
Kudos: 153





	the way you hold me

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt sent to me over on [Tumblr](https://a-beautiful-struggle-of-life.tumblr.com/)! Feel free to come say hi :)
> 
> This is just something short and (hopefully) sweet, enjoy <3

A shiver ran through Blake's body, like ice-cold water flooded his veins, and he pulled his knees up to his chest. His hands were blue, lips probably almost as bad. He could see his breath forming in front of his face and it reminded him of when he was a little boy; he used to be fascinated by it, pretending to be a fire-breathing dragon and chasing after his brother. Now it just made him dream of sweaty summer nights, trying to ignore the sting of his skin.

At least hugging his knees to his chest brought him a little extra warmth from the snow.

He wishes they were back at camp, where they could at least all huddle together and get under the various tents they had up. Here, stuck in the trenches, there was no such hope for protection from the bad winter weather besides cramped shelters that everyone was fighting over. Blake didn’t even bother, curling in on himself pressed against the freezing mud and just hoping the bloody stuff would stop falling soon.

“You alright?” a gentle voice asked, a hand coming to squeeze his shoulder. Blake reluctantly turned to face Schofield – the soldier he reckons is his closest mate here. Without sounding boastful, Blake had got on with most of the men when he first joined the 8th. But now, probably a result of everyone slowly growing more agitated and restless, people seem to be less tolerable of his positive attitude.

Although, Blake's not so sure he’s as optimistic as he used to be.

“I’m fine.”

Schofield raised an eyebrow, settling into the tiny space Blake had left beside him. “Don't look it.” he argued, nudging his ribs with his elbow.

Blake scoffed, tucking his rifle closer to his side. “Yeah, no shit.”

Schofield laughed, the sound somehow warming Blake from the inside. He found the corners of his mouth turning up and looked away. They settled into a comfortable silence, something they both seem to do often lately. Blake didn’t mind; he wasn’t in the mood for talking tonight. He just wanted the blasted sun to come up, get the next day out of the way, and hopefully be relieved back to camp for a couple days. He was craving some hot soup.

As if reading his thoughts and deciding to annoy Blake even more, the heavens opened up to release even more snow upon them. The flakes landed on his face, causing his to tuck his chin down and bury as much as he could between his arms (whilst still being able to stay on watch and not have the Sarge on his back again). Cold soaked his clothes and he could feel it seeping through his skin and wrapping around his bones in an icy grip.

He shuddered, for the millionth time that night, and brought his hands up to his mouth to breathe hot air into them. It served as a momentary relief from the pain before they stung once more only twice as bad. Sniffling, he clenched his fists together and focused a steely gaze across the plain fields in front of them. His body betrayed him though, shaking violently despite how much he tried to tense his muscles.

“If you’re so cold, why didn’t you say something?” Schofield asked, voice offended and Blake turned to look at him with a confused frown. Schofield just tutted, reminding him remarkably of his mother, and shook his head disapprovingly before shuffling closer to Blake – even though he'd thought they were as close as possible. “Come here.” An arm wrapped around his shoulders and tugged until Blake practically collapsed into Schofield's chest, and he was surprised by the strength of the older man; what with his lanky arms and all.

Blake made a quiet undignified sound, which was thankfully muffled by the mouthful of Schofield's shirt he received. “What’re you doing!” he exclaimed, trying to push himself away but Schofield wasn’t having any of it and simply tightened his grip.

“Stop wriggling.” the man scolded, other arm coming to wrap around Blake's front until he found himself embraced in a warm hug. He wanted to protest, hated the idea of what might happen if someone turned the corner and saw the position they were in, but the contact was comforting after months of nothing. Against his better judgment, he melted into the embrace and let out a content sigh against Schofield's neck – the older man shivering in response.

Blake decided to note that down for another day, he was in no state of mind to analyse the reaction tonight.

“’s nice.” he said, burying his face deeper into the warm crook of Schofield's neck and feeling the soft fabric of his scarf brushing over his skin. His senses were suddenly flooded with Schofield, the sandalwood and sweat scent that he'd grown so familiar with in recent weeks, the soft touch of his hands on his back rubbing small circles against his spine, the rise and fall of his chest with each ragged breath. Before he knew what was happening, Blake’s eyes slid shut and he took a deep inhale.

“Thought you Northerners were supposed to be tough as old boots with this shit?” Schofield’s smirk could be heard in his voice and Blake groaned to show his annoyance. The responding laugh he got back wasn’t his aim.

“Don’t mean I bloody sat out in the stuff all night long!” he protested, pulling up to actually have space to speak. He felt Schofield shift to turn his head closer, lips brushing accidently across his ear and he tensed.

“Could do with a few blankets.” Schofield mused and Blake bit his lip as he felt the man's hot breath ghost over his skin.

Scoffing, he leant back into Schofield's body – for warmth, of course. “Yeah, right. You wanna go to the General ‘bout that?”

Schofield hummed, thinking it over. “Least if he shoots me on sight I won’t have to deal with your moody arse anymore.” Blake made a noise of offense, biting at the sensitive skin of Schofield's neck. The man jumped, causing Blake to smirk, but then he thought he heard what sounded like a muffled moan. Heat flushed his cheeks and Blake twisted to get a better look at Schofield, confusion growing when he sees how the man's biting his bottom lip and looking sheepish.

Catching Blake's stare, Schofield raised a finger and growled, “Shut your damn mouth.”

Blake's smirk returned and he pulled out of Schofield's hold to look at him better. Tilting his head in his best impression of an innocent expression, Blake spoke, “You sure you can’t think of something else you’d rather my mouth do?”

Schofield's eyes widened, face growing redder by the second. “Lance Corporal Blake, kindly shut the fuck up.” he said, voice demanding and strict and oh God...since when did Blake find it attractive? That's bad; this was only a stupid joke.

Pushing his wandering thoughts into the deepest part of his mind, Blake blinked up at Schofield. “Anything for you, sir.”

Schofield groaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “And here I was trying to do something nice for you.”

Blake laughed, nudging Schofield’s shoulder and smiling when the man met his gaze again. “Come off it, I was just messing with ya.” Schofield looked doubtful. “Promise. When've I ever lied to you?”

That seemed to convince Schofield, a small smile returning to his face. Blake felt his heart beat faster at the sight, mentally frowning as he wondered when he started finding the man before him so unbelievably cute.

“C'mon, get back over here.” Blake said, tugging Schofield into him once again because if he's going to have to freeze his arse off out here he's at least going to enjoy it as best as he can. If that happens to be found from huddling close to the older Lance Corporal then so be it.

Schofield obliged, arm resuming it’s place around his shoulders and allowing Blake to get his head on his chest again. They came to some sort of silent agreement to not speak unless necessary for the rest of the night, either due to exhaustion of embarrassment Blake isn’t sure. He was okay with that, though; his mind was working at double it’s usual pace trying to decipher these newfound thoughts about the blond-haired, grumpy soldier.

And if, later in the night, Blake feels fingers playing with the loose hairs on the back of his neck that didn’t make it into his helmet...well, he wasn’t going to say anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Tysm for the continued love on my other fics!! Y'all seriously make me love this fandom even more every day! <3


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